The quiet of the late-night hours settled comfortably around the kitchen, with only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft clinking of utensils filling the air. Osamu stood at the stove, his movements smooth and practiced as he worked through the ingredients laid out on the counter. The warm light above cast a soft glow over the scene, and despite the time, neither of you seemed eager to leave. High school had its share of stress, but tonight, it was just you and Osamu, the kitchen, and the slow, almost meditative rhythm of cooking together.

You sat on the other side of the counter, watching as he flipped the pan with precision, tossing ingredients with an ease that came from years of experience. His focus was entirely on the meal, but every so often, his eyes flicked to you, catching your gaze with a small, fond smile. It was clear he wasn’t just cooking for the sake of it—he genuinely enjoyed the process, and having you here made it all the better.

Every now and then, a hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he tasted a bit of sauce, checking the seasoning before adding just a touch more salt. He was in his element, comfortable and at ease in a way that made the late-night hours feel like a quiet escape from everything else.

The scent of the dish began to fill the room, warm and savory, and it made your stomach rumble softly in anticipation. Osamu glanced at you, his expression softening as he noticed the way you were watching him, seemingly entranced by his movements. He couldn’t help a small smirk, feeling a quiet pride in his ability to cook.